Champions of the Deep part 4: Journey into Darknes
by Brother Andyn
Summary: Once again the Champions of the Deep continues, the neverending story of darkness, greed and adventure in deep places.


Champions of the Deep Journey into Darkness _Scribed by Brother Andyn_

XXI

Beneath the Black Mountains

'W e wish you good luck, fair Flame,' Aethys mused as the Sorceress disappeared into the Bright College. Accepted into the school of magic for the practise of Fire Magic, Flame would have a lot of study and training to do. But it was what she wanted, and a shining, new step in her enchanting career.

'It has been a fine adventure having her as part of the Champions.' Maximus grunted, disheartened as the rest of them, a look of regret passing across his grim features. 'But we must move on. The past weeks fighting against foul cultists of Tzeentch have taken their toll on all of us. It's time…for a drink.'

'Aye,' Deraphin said eagerly, 'the Storm of Chaos is over. Soon the Brethren will be stamped out.'

As Bringaz Stonefist had also made his departure, having been offered a lucrative and irresistible business deal, the Champions had been drastically reduced in number. Three warriors lost, it was not a good exchange for the one they had gained. Although Gourlak was a mighty Slayer, it was inevitable, that he would never be able to fulfil the positions of Flame or Jarod. Still, his axe and vicious approach to battle did prove useful.

But, unfortunately, it was to create a dissension, which would temporarily break the company. It was one night when the Witch Hunter, Blair Von Tyrenburg, commanded the Champions to undertake a great trek, to the distant mountains of Karak Eight Peaks. There they would hunt down the Sorcerer, Gen, and assassinate him. Waylaid by a heavy, drinking session with the armoured warrior, Grulf, the Slayer was not present when the Witch Hunter summoned his charges. Impatient, and irritated at the dwarf's lack of responsibility, Von Tyrenburg simply told Maximus that he, Deraphin and Aethys should begin their quest without the others. It would prove to be a difficult journey, but one that needed strong, committed warriors, not drunkard slayers or close-helmeted shadow soldiers.

Up the River Reik they travelled, to Nuln, the great city of the artillery schools. Then they voyaged to Hochsleben on the Upper Reik. From here they set off on foot, into the dark and brooding Black Mountains. Spurning the dangers of Black Fire Pass, with its constant warbands of Orcs, Goblins and Beastmen, Aethys led the party to an old dwarf road, one that trailed beneath the mountain range. It hadn't been used for centuries, but was a welcome alternative to going across the mountains and suffering the monstrous weather and terrible perils that lay in wait along the passes.

The long dark was still not a safe passage. Many monsters inhabited the depths, many creatures the Champions encountered. These encounters all ended the only way possible: with the foes' deaths at the hands of the rugged heroes.

Though it was a perilous trip, and one that heralded numerous beastmen from an underground lair, tugging along their captive Griffon, Maximus destroyed all that stood in his way, clearing a route through the deep. The griffon, a scrawny specimen that reeked of pestilence and rotting fur, was put from its misery and its evil captives put to the torch, their corpses burning and creating temporary beacons in the darkness. The ruined roadway, dwarven columns battered and ancestral statues defaced, was beset by a variety of beings both greenskin and chaotic. The most horrifying of all was the Cockatrice, a scaly, cock-combed beast whose eyes flashed with a deadly destruction. Around its foul lair stood numerous stone goblins, the meat within their shells cooked and withered. Only by a combination of sword and sorcery could the nightmare be destroyed, a relief to both Champions and the denizens of the deep.

Finally, after many days of wandering amidst the ruins of the ancient, dwarven pathway, Maximus, Deraphin and Aethys reached a polluted fountain chamber, infested with plague and slime. A great battle ensued, as the Orcs and other beasts which had claimed this place as their home, desperately tried to repel the intruders.

A week passed beneath the Black Mountains before the Champions eventually broke out into the Borderlands, tired, hungry and exhausted, but alive. Their armour was battered, their bodies scarred, their minds hardened by the horrors they had witnessed, by the things they had seen in the bowels of the earth. When a marauding band of Forest Goblins set upon them in the forest before the closest settlement, it was the Goblins who paid dearly, each one slain brutally by the vengeful Champions. It had been a hard journey, even though it had only just begun.

Schnappleburg: a small hamlet in the Border Princes, east of the Black River. It was a primitive place, ill-defended and poorly populated. Only a tiny militia protected the cluster of ram-shackle buildings, from orc and goblin raiding parties. Every day here was tense: strained in watching for the next attack. But it was here that the Champions had arrived, here they rested and fed, before preparing to continue on their journey.

'Wherever that bastard Gen is, he's going to pay for that hellish trek.' Maximus muttered, obviously angry about the time taken beneath the Black Mountains. He glared at Aethys.

'Trust me, warrior.' The Elf Ranger responded. 'It was the best path – through Black Fire Pass with our number would have been…suicide. And across the mountains – there are reasons for Passes.'

'Yes, I agree with Aethys,' Deraphin spoke, a new scar standing out upon his brow. He wore it like a trophy, for it did not altogether disfigure his elven face. 'Were we to take the Pass, we would have attracted even more attention. And three fighters against an army of greenskins…'

'Hmmm…I have to admit, I am not invincible,' Maximus relented. 'Trust the elves to know more about this mountain range and its perils.'

'Well…we have been here a lot longer than you, my friend,' Deraphin suggested.

'Yea, well when we get clear of this backwater, I'll be glad of it.'

'I think I too, would appreciate moving on,' Aethys grimaced, rubbing his shoulder. 'But wounds take time to heal.'

'That they do,' Maximus agreed, flexing his muscles despite the crisscrossing of new marks upon his brawny arms, 'that they do.'

XXII

Prince Magnus' Gold

Gourlak the Invincible: when one thought about it, a rather ironic, inappropriate name it seemed. Trollslayers do not wish to be invincible. They sought death in combat against the largest and most ferocious beast they could find. Perhaps the only Trollslayer to be anything close to invincible is the legendary Gotrek Gurnisson, infamous Slayer and companion to Felix Jaeger.

Invincible Gourlak was not. He had finally fulfilled his oath, and found a glorious death in combat. It was after the argument with Grulf, and much after the others had left, intent on reaching the distant realm of Karak Eight Peaks. Drunk beyond the normal confines of a dwarf's ability to contain alcohol, the slayer had attempted to pick a fight with Grulf. The armoured warrior knew that he could kill the slayer, and this would be no honourable death. He had tried to calm his comrade down. But this was folly, and Grulf spat in disgust at Gourlak's feet. He had left the dwarf to his own devices, not caring whether or not he stayed with the Champions.

Setting off three hours later, into the forests around Altdorf, Gourlak wandered off into the depths. Something clicked in his head, and he remembered that here lay a cave, where it was rumoured a great troll lived. The Troll was centuries old, but only occasionally ventured forth from its lair. Its existence had passed into legend, a monster of the forests, which was defeated long ago by some nameless soldier. Gourlak would seek it out, and slay it.

The bestial roar echoed around the cavern, sending rats scattering for their holes and bringing dust floating down from the low roof above. The creature did not appreciate being woken at this time, and now it was hungry. What manner of weak, tasty animal had meandered into its lair? With a snarl, the giant forest troll seized up a massive club formed from the bone of a dragon. The weapon was ancient, but strengthened with natural magic that had coalesced around its primeval structure. It was as if it attracted the winds of magic, a relic from another time, long before the ascendance of man and the creation of Sigmar's Empire. Grinding fangs each the size of a man's fist, and eyes gleaming with instinctive hunger, the creature shook its mane of filthy hair and stalked towards the cave's entrance.

Gourlak stood, framed by the fence of trees outside. He held his axe in both hands, awaiting the monster he had called awake. No doubt this would be a worthy death, worthy enough for him to be accepted into the halls of his ancestors.

The troll's eyes flickered with primordial intelligence. Before it was a dwarf, clasping a double-headed axe that shone with inlaid runes. A warcry split from the trollslayer's gullet, and he charged at the beast. Issuing a challenge of its own, the creature, the giant Forest Troll from a time when Sigmar reined, ambled forwards.

With a clash of sparks, the bone impacted on the axe. The two combatants fought like daemons, enraged and angered at the nature of the other. Gourlak's strength was no match for the troll's, but his own size was an advantage, and he was able to move about the cave more easily. The troll had grown large, far larger than others of its kind, and brute force smashed into the trollslayer, throwing him against the rocky wall. His impact disturbed a flock of bats, which took flight and skittered off deeper into the troll's lair. With blood coursing down a gash in his side, Gourlak began his deathsong and hurled himself towards his foe. The troll's mouth revealed its sharpened teeth, and it raised its weapon, intercepting the blow. With uncanny speed it swept the club upwards, launching the trollslayer at the wall again. With a sickening crunch, Gourlak struck the ceiling. He seemingly lingered there for a moment, looking down at the axe descending with a clang to the dusty, rock-strewn cave floor. The troll glanced up at him, a wicked sneer written across its bestial features. Then he fell, a bloodcurdling scream of terror ripping from his throat as a large, pointed stalagmite rose to meet him. A colossal hoot of laughter riddled with malicious glee filled the cave.

Aethys stood with Grulf in the Throne Room of the Bastion of Chaos. He still did not trust the armoured warrior, but he was glad of his presence anyway. It was not likely that he would have survived this quest to retrieve the treasure of Border Prince Magnus Glint, and collect the 200 gold crowns reward, without armed support. Together they had penetrated the underground fortress's outer defences, negotiated their way through a labyrinth of tunnels and passages, fought off and killed numerous guards and creatures in the employ of the one called Gulthor, and hacked a bloody path into the chamber of the Chaos Champion. Gulthor, a Black Orc who had sworn his soul to the Dark Gods, who also had taken the enchanted sword, Orcs Bane, from Glint's Temple of Sigmar, lay broken upon the chaos star at the centre of the floor. His third arm had been severed, the huge crab claw bloodied and ruined. Around the Champions also lay the bodies of several Black Orcs and Chaos Warriors who had been his bodyguard, soldiers of his growing army. The mysterious 'Fimir' had also had troops here, green-skinned, daemonic, cyclopean swamp-dwellers. Their very existence bordered on myth and legend, and many people dismissed them as they did the existence of the Skaven. But they had been here – the many corpses of the beasts were testimony to that.

The Throne Room's tall pillars soared up, into the darkness of the seemingly non-existent ceiling. Decorated with stone glyphs and heavy chains, they surrounded a massive dais, upon which sat a throne and a sinister gargoyle. The ruby eyes of the statue gleamed, and Aethys knew that sometimes, such creatures could be brought to life through arcane rituals. He was extremely relieved that this one had not. Other stone statues stood about the room, huge warriors armed with axes. Who knew what damage they could wreak if allowed? Banners of human flesh and human skulls hung grimly from either side of the dais, and numerous trophies claimed from hundreds of victims lined the walls. The three chests crouched behind, near a large, wooden trapdoor that the Ranger Mage cared not what lay beneath.

'Come; let us get these trunks away from here. Foul magic lingers…I fear that we have not destroyed this place.'

'Agreed,' murmured the warrior. 'How much gold from these did you say Glint was going to pay us?'

'None. If one crown is missing, we will not be paid.'

Emerging from the Bastion of Chaos, Aethys' fears had been confirmed. They had fought their way through a throng of Fimm Warriors – already it seemed that the place was being revived with devilish sorcery. Perhaps even Gulthor would rise again. The Champions had not the time or wish to find out – priority lay with returning Glint's gold and claiming their meagre reward.

The Black Orc Chaos Champion rose from the cold floor, the flesh knitting together as glittering, black, energy burst scattered over his body. The crab claw rejoined, and Gulthor flexed his prize weapon as if waking up from a rather intense nightmare. Within a short time, he was back to his original condition, healed and rejuvenated. Around him his minions were equally resurrected, blinking and yawning. A wicked grin spread across his fanged features. He stretched out the yellow sword, now sparkling with corrupted power. The runes on the blade changed shape, and evil faces leered out from the surface.

'I have returned. The Bastion of Chaos is a haven of darkness indeed. The legends are true!'

XXIII

Tarnished Armour

The Knight in Tarnished Armour: Artios, a powerful Bretonnian Knight on the legendary Grail quest, he was to be the next hero to forge his name in this legend. It was time for the Champions to continue on their journey, and at the reminder of Aethys, it was realised that a new warrior was needed for the party. Grulf has become darker, closed in, and kept to himself most of the time. Aethys recognised certain signals, and feared the worst was to come.

The reputation and history of Artios preceded him, and with Maximus' agreement, the Elf Ranger approached the Knight. Artios decided to join the Champions without delay. Unknown to them, however, it seemed that he could use these three warriors as a means to an end.

'I have heard of you, Knight,' Maximus grunted as the party trudged down a dusty corridor deep beneath Schanppleburg. 'You will prove a worthy ally should we come against the Blood God's bastard minions.'

'Ah, the enemy at last,' Artios shouted, as the group neared a stone doorway, behind which shadows flickered and the low hum of chanting could be heard. 'Prepare to die, Orc scum!' The knight charged towards the chamber, the warriors following somewhat confused as they burst into a room filled with Chaos Dwarves practising some arcane ritual and guarded by their beastman allies. 'Destroy them all!'

'That's no problem,' Maximus snarled, intercepting a beastman's axe and swinging his hammer to connect with its chest. There was a sickening crunch as ribs caved in. Magic flashed and missiles flew through the dank air as the elves got to work. In the darkness of the archway, the armoured warrior called Grulf lurked.

As the remnants of the beastmen fled into the inky blackness beyond, Aethys gritted his teeth and bent forward in pain, clutching his head. 'I knew it, the devilish demon-worshipper! Look out!' Maximus and Artios swung around to see Deraphin parry Grulf's massive axe in a spray of sparks. The warrior reached forwards and hurled the elf against the wall with one heavy gauntlet, then turned his fiendishly glowing eyes to the leader.

'My lord, Slaanesh, will be pleased with your sacrifice!' He chuckled, the sound echoing from within the helmet. 'Prepare to meet thy doom!'

'Come on, who really talks like that,' Maximus spat, his voice riddled with disgust, 'I never even remembered when I met you!' The Warhammer span end over end through the air and crashed into Grulf, knocking him to the ground. What followed was lost in a flurry of close combat as the warrior, Maximus and Artios engaged in a whirlwind of sword blades and armoured fists. After several minutes, the Knight and Pit Fighter pinned Grulf down to the slimy floor.

'You will leave us, from this moment on, and you will not follow our path,' Maximus said venomously. 'If we meet you again, you will die.' He motioned to Artios, and they backed off, pulling the unconscious Deraphin with them. 'Come, Aethys, let's leave him to his Dark God. And may Slaanesh have no mercy upon your filthy soul.'

'And may Khornate daemons prey upon you,' Artios threw a last insult, his cold eyes radiating emotionless ice.

'We make camp here,' Maximus said gruffly. They had stopped on an ancient dwarven road, which led to the Worlds Edge Mountains. This part of the path was more easily protected, a way station that had once supplied dwarf miners with sustenance and rest after they had come up from the deeper mines. So now, the Champions of the Deep, miles below the surface of the earth…had truly started on their journey, into Darkness.

XXIV

A Bitter Parting

'I think we should stop, and rest,' Maximus said. The Champions of the Deep had come to a fork in the road. 'We wait here for three hours, before moving on.'

Deraphin promptly collapsed, pulling out his flask and taking a swig. Artios sheathed his sword slowly, and Aethys frowned. The elf ranger glanced at the knight, and then turned to their leader.

'We cannot camp here. This part of the road is fraught with peril. I demand that we move.'

'You are in no position to demand anything, elf!' Maximus growled. 'I believe that here is safe enough. Any thing that dares attack us, I'll deal with.'

'You cannot possibly know the dangers that wait in the shadows,' Aethys spat. He looked about, at the tunnel. It was high in places, with what looked like narrow crevices and shelves of rock. A skeleton lay beneath the worn signpost, its bones riddled with moss and decay. The ground underfoot was rocky, unstable in places and huge clusters of blue fungi sprouted from dank corners. To top off the desolation, a chill breeze blew from above, as if warning of unseen evil.

Aethys glared at Deraphin, who was sprawled amidst a crop of ferns and toadstools. The sorcerer's eyes were closed. It seemed he was mentally exhausted. Artios removed his helm and lit up a cigar. The atmosphere was tense. After a few moments, the knight stopped chewing and blew forth a ring of smoke. His cold eyes bored into Maximus.

'I agree with Aethys,' he drawled. 'Our progress has been…unhurried these past few days…or whatever length of time we've spent in this darkness. We should continue.'

'No! We camp here,' Maximus snarled, launching himself at the knight. The two warriors tussled, but Artios pushed Maximus away and replaced his helm. He adjusted the wings and stared icily back at the ex-pit fighter. Aethys stood by him, clasping his staff to one side with both hands. Maximus shook off his pack, and joined Deraphin. He drank deeply from an aleskin before finally speaking.

'I'll be here when you return. Scout out the tunnel, find a clear route to the next dwarf hall.'

'I'm going,' Aethys said quietly. 'I shall take…the right fork.' He stormed off into the darkness, his blue cloak billowing. Artios quickly followed with a clank of armour, and the two warriors vanished down the tunnel into the gloom.

Leaving Maximus and Deraphin behind, the ranger and the knight navigated their way through the tunnel. They met a band of Chaos Warriors, led by their champion and a fight broke out, resulting in a small tremor as the enraged elf unleashed the full power of the Starblade. Amidst falling rocks and dust Aethys and Artios hacked their way through their foes and continued on. They trudged along a walkway by a deep chasm and reached an intersection, from which they explored further walkways. High above the crevasse they fought monstrous creatures and vile beastmen, clearing the way for their companions. The blackness rang with the clang of steel and bursts of blue fire.

Finally, the duo crossed a slender catwalk and passed an immense set of stone doors into a great chamber. It had titanic, stone pillars that hung with chains, and a dais stood beyond a vast staircase. Ambush struck from the shadows in the form of Skaven assassins and the duo were surrounded and embroiled in a desperate fight. But the ratman beats realised that their blades only caused sparks upon Artios' armour, and the knight lashed out, slaying them with impunity. The assassins that assailed Aethys had no better luck. Blasting two from him with blue-white lightning, he closed his eyes and lifted the third from the floor with his mind. With eyes open and blazing with power, he sent the unfortunate creature flying across the room. It hit the far wall with a sickening crunch. Uttering a screech of hatred, the warlord on the dais flung himself upon the elf, but Aethys was healing his body, clad in a wave of scarlet energy. As he levitated slightly, the winds of magic caressing his hair, he was a diversion, and Artios' sword slammed into the warlord's neck, sending his its ugly head bouncing down the steps. Spouting black blood, the corpse was kicked down after it, spilling foul life essence in a spreading pool.

And then they saw the mechanical beasts: steam-powered engines of destruction, moving towards them with regular, powerful strides. Forged from tempered iron and steel and decorated with spikes and other extensions, they stood higher than man or elf. Aethys and Artios, both of nations devoid of mechanical inventions, watched in fear as these automatons approached. With bone-like jaws they snapped and snarled. One of them supported a weapon that seemed familiar, a weapon that stank of warpstone.

'Warpfire thrower!' Aethys shouted as the cannon spewed forth its cargo of flame.

The heroes battled long and hard against the automatons. They were controlled by arcane magic, the products no doubt of some unholy alliance. Their armour was tough, the metal causing blows to glance off. But eventually the duo overcame them, rupturing their shells and piercing their hides. With the automatons a pile of smoking scrap metal, Aethys and Artios made camp in the shelter of the staircase.

'Perhaps we should go back,' the knight suggested, chewing on a cigar and leaning against the nearby column.

'Let them catch up by themselves,' Aethys sneered. 'I'm not going back.' He turned from the flickering azure light of the fire and looked at Artios. His face appeared daemonic in the half-shadow. 'The way lies through that gate.' He pointed. 'We leave in two hours. Are you with me, human?'

'I'm with you,' Artios replied.

XXV

The Glitter of Gold

The thunder of the dragon's wings echoed from around the cavern. Vast the beast stood, hundreds of feet high and with four limbs tipped with razor-sharp claws the size of swords. It opened its jaws, revealing a mouth filled with huge teeth that glinted as a column of flame rushed forth towards something beyond the heroes' sight. There was a magical flash and a burst of rough laughter.

'You'll have to better than that, dragon!'

'It's a slayer,' Aethys whispered. 'No doubt seeking his death in combat.'

'Somehow, I think he may well find it,' Artios chuckled, chewing as usual.

The dragon descended upon the dwarf with a crash of breaking rocks and the scrape of talons on stone. The duo could just see a metal, rune-encrusted axe raised for the strike.

'Prepare to meet your…' The dwarf's voice was cut off abruptly, as the dragon roared and backhanded him. The slayer was flung across the cavern, coming to a stop when he hit the wall. Immediately, the elf ranger acted.

'Stand aside, and let us pass,' he spoke in an ancient tongue. Only when the gigantic beast turned, and gazed down upon him did he notice the unnatural glint in its eyes, and the cluster of spikes rupturing the flesh near the base of its neck. The beast, obviously tainted by Chaos energy, let out another bellow of rage and charged. The floor rocked beneath its titanic feet as it thundered forwards, stalactites falling from the ceiling. Aethys bounded into action, and he and Artios parted, attacking from two sides as the beast crashed into the wall through which they had come. There was a dangerous cracking, as if the cavern were about to collapse. The warriors knew this was not the time or place. A few well-placed blows unleashed a flow of black blood from the dragon's ankles. The beast roared in pain and struggled to turn around to face its minute opponents.

'Time to get out of here,' Aethys shouted, making for a tunnel opening on the other side of the cavern.

'Wait! The dwarf is alive.'

All around boulders began plummeting from the roof, the walls began collapsing and dust rose in clouds as rocks crashed to the floor. Even as the ceiling began caving in on the trapped dragon, Artios flung the grunting and protesting slayer over his shoulder before he fled the cave.

'You deprived me of an honourable death, and a glorious kill!' The slayer was furious.

'We apologise for the…inconvenience,' Aethys stated. 'I thought…'

'You, elf, will lead me to another dragon! You owe it to me now, by the axe of Grimnir!'

There was a moment's silence, as the elf and the knight pondered.

'Aethys Starblade, at your service,' he said. 'And this is Artios, Knight.'

'I don't care who you are,' the slayer interrupted, you owe me a dragon!'

'Very well, dwarf, I shall lead you to another dragon. But as we are already on a quest of our own, you will have to accompany us first.'

It was the slayer's turn to be silent. 'There is nothing as sure in the world as the glitter of gold and the treachery of elves. But I agree to your terms, elf. The name's Ironhammer, Barik Ironhammer. And you would do well to remember it.'

'That I will, master Ironhammer,' Aethys replied. 'And I assure you, dwarf, I am no betrayer.'

'And now shall we be on our way?' Artios was getting impatient.

'Lead on, manling,' Barik said gruffly.

'Which fork did the elf take?' Maximus asked Deraphin. 'It's about time they were back. They've been gone a while.' He started packing up his gear.

'The right fork,' Deraphin said, standing and slinging his bow. 'No wait, it was the left one.'

They were about to leave, when the elf hesitated. 'Maybe it was the right one.'

Maximus huffed. 'Well, which is it?'

'Uh…damn the gods. I can't honestly remember.'

The ranger, the knight and the slayer trekked up the tunnel towards where Aethys knew it would come out into the foothills of the Worlds Edge Mountains. Emerging near a small village, they restocked on supplies and found quarters for the night, before moving off again at dawn. Another cave entrance heralded the path forward, which sloped gently downwards until they reached what looked like a shrine.

'What is this! Who are you to disturb my meditation?' A commanding voice cut through the still air.

The warriors looked about them, taking in the marble statue of Asuryan, chief of the Elven gods. Before them stood a majestic warrior, clad in gleaming golden mail and plate armour, which was highly polished. His adornments depicted a firebird, a phoenix, and in one gauntleted hand the tall elf grasped a double-handed sword that shone with a fiery light. His eyes glittered with a strange quality.

'I am Aethys, Elf Ranger Mage of the Dispossessed,' the ranger said, awe in his voice. 'These are my companions – Artios and Barik Ironhammer. We apologise for breaking your concentration, my lord.' Artios narrowed his eyes at the new elf, and Barik glanced at the ground. 'We are on our way…'

'Prepare to die, weakling scum!' Another voice broke in from behind them, and suddenly a chaos warband smashed their way into the shrine. At their head was the familiar figure of Grulf, spikes jutting from his metal armour and a slavering chimera at his hand on a chain. 'Now you die!'

The four warriors immediately turned to address the threat and battle ensued. Forced to band together against the sudden incursion, they fought against the intruders with fierce vigour. Aethys' blue-white magic blasted the chaos worshippers whilst Artios' sword slashed left and right, taking off the cultists' limbs. This was Barik's chance, and his axe rose and fell, reaping a bloody toll and his rough war cries split the air. Grulf had returned, and was determined to kill them all. But most spectacular was the elf lord, striding amongst his enemies with impunity. Each blow left a cultist a bloodied ruin, their blades clanged off his impervious armour and his skill with his sword was unmatched. Grulf, at the back of the war band, released his dire pet and soon the shrine's ceiling was shaking with the thunderous sound of the beast's wings.

'This is madness!' Barik roared, above the battlesound. 'That beast will bring the roof down upon us, like in the dragon's lair!'

'I agree,' Aethys hissed, 'we must be away!'

Hacking a path through their enemies and leaving a trail of bodies, the Champions cut their way deeper into the shrine, heading for the tunnel. But the way was blocked, as if the war band had summoned reinforcements that poured from the earth like a fountain of blood. The statue of Asuryan came crashing down, sending marble shards scattering across the room and the cultists began to panic as their leader drove them on.

'Kill them! Kill them now!' Grulf was losing his grip, desperate to end this charade before his monstrous minion doomed them all.

Aethys let loose a howl of frustration and, reaching into his cloak, pulled out a bell. It was a swindle bell, and he didn't waste any time in shaking it, sending an ear-shattering clamour through the shrine. There was a blinding white flash and a wash of fire and destruction wiped the room clear of their enemies. In a trice the majority of the cultists were slain. Grulf had already fled with his bodyguard.

As the rocks ceased falling from the roof and the dust settled upon a destroyed chamber that was scattered with fallen masonry, the elf lord in golden armour approached the warriors.

'I am Lord Anaris Aeraendar. I thank you, and would ask you your business here.'

After Aethys explained the quest to Anaris, the Lord of Aenarion removed his helmet, letting the air circulate through sweaty hair that hung limply about his shoulders.

'I would take it upon myself to join your company,' he said. 'There are many benefits to communication and in assisting your quest. I, too, am heading to the Worlds Edge and I know of a swifter route.'

'Join us,' Artios spoke first. 'We could well do with a warrior of your…talents.'

'Yes,' Aethys agreed, 'the others in our party are behind us, and unable to catch up at this stage.'

'Then let us go,' Anaris spoke, his voice resonating with the clear notes of elven nobility.

For two days the fellowship travelled across the mountains. They were tracking Grulf, and his evil minions. Anaris reasoned that the scum of the dark gods deserved nothing but death, but also that this was the direction he would lead them in anyway. In a cave overlooking Mad Dog Pass they finally caught up with the Chaos Warrior. It would seem that here he had fled, exhausted and desperate, hoping to go unnoticed, to survive another day so that maybe he could later muster another army. It was a fool's hope for his time had finally come.

'I will kill that son of a bitch!' The knight was eager.

'Not if I get to him first, human.' Aethys gritted his teeth in anger at seeing Grulf.

'Wait here, and watch. I realise that you may have some grudge against Grulf, but I can take care of the rest,' Anaris said dangerously. 'Dawnfire thirsts.' He halted them with his sword, and then strode into the cave.

Taken by surprise, Grulf summoned his guards to attack the elf lord.

'Kenan Arilia, take down this weakling! One cut and by the Lord of Pleasure he'll be gone!'

A human assassin, lithe and clad in leather, sprang at Anaris. In his gloved hands he gripped two daggers that dripped with black venom. The elf swept up his greatsword, and the man fell, cut in half.

'Arakken Ironfist! May the Lord Slaanesh bless you with this kill!'

Another Chaos Warrior, clad in ancient, baroque armour launched himself forwards. There was a clash of orange sparks as Dawnfire met the warrior's axe, and then Arakken's head flew from the cave's entrance. Aghast, Grulf waved his final bodyguard forward. An obese ogre, clad in filthy rags and scraps of rusting metal and clutching a crude club, pounded her obscene chest with her other meaty fist.

'Shakutha will kill!'

'Shakutha is a corpse,' Anaris denied, dancing nimbly aside as the club swung out. Anaris introduced Dawnfire to the back of the ogre's head and there was a visible spray of blood and brain matter as the top half of Shakutha's head was sliced.

'Gentlemen,' Anaris summoned as the beast crashed face down onto the rocky floor.

Aethys and Artios strode towards the quivering Grulf. The Chaos Warrior raised his axe before his helmet. Even though they couldn't see his face, it was obvious he was shaking in fear.

'I believe it is…your lucky day,' Anaris offered. 'It is a human saying, apparently.' He bowed low, and stood aside.'

'Stop cowering like…well, like a coward,' Artios growled. A well-aimed blow disarmed Grulf. The axe flew out across the floor. 'Pick it up, and fight!'

'I know him better,' Aethys spat with disgust. 'He will not fight. This is no time for honour, knight. It is a time for execution.'

'As you say,' Artios replied. Two swords descended like falling comets, their blades a silver blur in the light of dusk.

Grulf's head rolled across the floor and his corpse sagged to wallow in a spreading pool of its own blood.

'We may as well make camp here,' Barik grunted. 'Think we can risk a fire?'

'There is no risk,' Anaris said bluntly. He twirled his greatsword. 'The glitter of gold is sure indeed.'

XXVI

Ambush near Iron Rock

The Champions of the Deep crossed the mountains south of Mad Dog Pass, following a narrow route through the Worlds Edge Mountains. Anaris led them quickly, knowing that above ground the weather was a threat. Also, their presence would soon attract orcish eyes, as the ravine passed dangerously close to Iron Rock, infamous bastion of Orc warlords.

The company marched warily, but soon an eerie horn sounded and immediately they knew what was coming. The orcs, and their great beast allies, were preparing for an attack.

'Ambush!' Anaris unslung his greatsword, his eyes flashing with battle-light. 'The orcs approach!'

'We could do with Maximus and Deraphin's help right now,' Aethys hissed as orcs gathered in front. A glance behind them revealed more orcs and brutish trolls. They were trapped, with no option but to fight their way clear to continue on their journey towards Karak Eight Peaks.

'Forget about them,' Artios grunted, 'all that matters is getting through this. Lady knows where they are right now.' He spat. 'Damned orcs.'

'The knight speaks truth,' Barik barked, his eyes scanning the numbers of monsters rushing towards them with bestial cries. 'We cannot rely on them turning up to save the day. It's our own skill that will do that.'

'I agree with the dwarf,' Anaris said briskly. He twirled his sword and the light twinkled upon it. 'Time to die, greenskin primitives!'

For six hours straight the companions battled. They hacked a bloody path of destruction towards the ravine's far exit, cutting down orcs and beasts around them. None of them were unscathed, and the numbers of the foe were near countless. Inch by bloody inch, they battered they way up the path, smashing aside everything in their way and following the Lord of Aenarion's storm-bred fury. Each enemy within his reach died, his greatsword flickering and killing in a dance of destruction. The slayer's axe rose and fell, lopping off limbs and severing whole torsos, while Artios' heavily armoured form smashed through the ranks of orcs as he spilt gallons of green blood. The blue-white lightning of Aethys' magical power bathed the enemy in ferocious passion, felling hundreds as the electricity sparked and burst upon their bodies. It was an extremely hard-fought combat, and by the end the heroes were exhausted both in mind and body. They left an army of corpses rotting in the ravine behind them.

Clear of Iron Rock, the Champions found a vacant cave near the foot of Karag Dron, Thunder Mountain. Here they made camp, and rested for many days while they recovered and healed themselves. Ahead stood the ruins of Karak Drazh, now the Orc Fort of Black Crag. It seemed that the path was about to take yet another turn into the greenskins' territory.

XXVII

A Slayer's Oath

Black Crag, infamous bastion of Orcish might, proved difficult. Aethys, Artios, Anaris and Barik passed the ruins of Karak Drazh, encountering many orcs. Scattered battles took place but the warriors fared well, slaying the greenskins whenever they appeared from caves and passages in the rock. That is, until they met the shaman, and his captive war beasts. These monsters included a griffon.

In a pit set into the rock, surrounded by ferns and other vegetation, the slaughter took place. Like a angry god Anaris hacked and destroyed his way through the orcs, severing limbs and heads and causing the other orcs to back away in mortal terror. The shaman's spells flickered and conflicted against the blue-white magic of Aethys, and the battle unfolded around them the wizards duelled in a magical challenge. Aethys was flung to the ground, but he struggled on, until finally he was able to throw the shaman against the wall and end its life. Artios ignored the blows that rained down on his near-impenetrable armour, sweeping his blade through his foes and cutting them down like a scythe through wheat. The slayer fought like Grimnir himself, destroying countless orcs and goblins. May of the lucky ones fled in fear. But Barik Ironhammer cut down the hated orcs in their droves; each blow of his axe spilling green blood and his roars of vengeance pierced the cold skies. Then the griffon was unleashed.

Whilst Artios cleared the path ahead of fleeing goblins and captive beasts, Barik faced the griffon. The battle lasted three hours, till long after the remaining greenskins had all been slain. Thunder rolled and lightning split the sky as rain poured down, as if the gods themselves anticipated what was to come. And then, the enraged griffon, slashing at the dwarf with bloodied talons, struck Barik's axe from his grasp and hurled him across the pit. He hit the wall, hard, and fell. The other Champions quickly closed on the rampant beast and put it from its misery. But it was too late for Barik. He had fulfilled his Slayer Oath, earning a honourable death in combat. He had gone to join his ancestors.

'Come, we've wasted enough time here,' Anaris spat, after the body of Barik Ironhammer had been buried. 'The path is nearly ended. Soon we shall be at Karak Eight Peaks.'

'Well,' Aethys said, ' Barik did not get his dragon. But we did give him a replacement after all.'

They looked out over Death Pass. Beyond lay a great many mountains, but if one looked close enough one could catch a glimpse of a vale, surrounded by eight, mighty peaks. Losing one of their number was harsh, but if Artios, Aethys and Anaris had to pursue Gen without Maximus and Deraphin…it would be so.

12


End file.
